Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/316

Rh

Many a cheek grew red, and brow grew dark, And many a whisper'd word recall'd the time When, in unworldly and in happy youth, The valley's chieftain and the mountain girl Made it their favourite haunt; all call'd to mind, Then was the morning colour on her cheek, Then her life was as summer in its smile, And all felt, as they laid her in the grave, It was the lorn rest of the broken heart. Years pass'd:—the green moss had o'ergrown the stone Which mark'd the orphan maiden's lowly grave, When rode an armed train beside the stream. Why does One pause beneath the lonely tree, And watch the starlight fall on the white stone? That martial step, that haughty brow, so traced